Tag: Lyrai

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 8, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch8.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

So, Lieutenant Lyrai, Lady Mhysra, tell me about your fathers…

“YOU ASKED TO see me, sir?” Mhysra entered her father’s study and tugged at the riding skirt Milluqua had bullied her into wearing. She still had her breeches on underneath but, as her sister had pointed out, their father didn’t know that. It was better all round if he didn’t know she routinely paraded around the eyries in a flying coat and breeches, with no thought to so-called modesty or propriety.

Lord Kilpapan looked up from his account books and nodded approvingly at her outfit. The skirt was overlong and overfull, all the better for modest maidens to mount horsats without unseemly displays of ankles. It was a compromise, since it allowed women to ride astride without any loss of reputation. Side-saddles had an unfortunate habit of unbalancing all but the biggest horsat stallions, and all agreed that they were no mount for a delicate lady.

Mhysra hated riding skirts. Her long flying coat, reaching almost to her knees with a split vent at the back, was a different story. It didn’t surprise her that the earl wrinkled his nose at the coat’s condition – she wore it every day.

“You spend too much time at the eyries.”

Straightening her spine, Mhysra stared over his left shoulder. “It’s Starday, sir. I am permitted to spend this day how I wish, according to the agreement Milluqua and I drew up. Which you approved.”

Lord Kilpapan made a noncommittal noise. “I would prefer you spent less time there.”

And Mhysra would have preferred him not to be such a narrow-minded bigot, but few got what they wanted in life. If he thought she would give up Cumulo on his command, he was doomed to disappointment.

“Your sister should not have to track you down in such places. It is to her credit that she chooses to go herself rather than send a servant, but it casts shadows on both your reputations.”

Then don’t ask for me when you know I’m there, Mhysra thought, but stayed silent. After the scene she’d just witnessed between her sister and Captain Stirla, Mhysra knew the real reason why Milluqua chose not to send a servant. She also had to concede that her father might have a point about eyries and reputations, but she would rather cut out her tongue than admit it. What Milluqua got up to was her own business.

At her silence, the earl nodded as though something had been decided. It had, though Mhysra doubted they’d reached the same conclusion. Silence was a valuable tool when talking with her father. The less she said the happier he was, leaving her free to carry on as before without making false promises.

Putting his quill aside, Lord Kilpapan looked at her over the ledger. “You have been studying under your sister’s supervision for two months now. From both her reports and our meetings, I have decided that it’s time your new skills were put into practise.”

Mhysra tightened her hands, hoping her father didn’t notice her white knuckles. He wanted her to enter society? To become a useless butterfly like so many others? When pyreflies hatched kittens!

“I am honoured by your confidence in me, sir,” she murmured demurely, mind racing. How many functions would he expect her to attend? When? What would Milluqua say?

“Your sister is a fine tutor.” The praise was grudgingly given.

“But am I not too young, sir?” she asked, trying to sound feeble and self-conscious. It was one of the only things Milluqua had actually taught her, claiming it never failed.

Lord Kilpapan frowned, tapping his fingers together. “You turned seventeen last autumn, yes?”

Mhysra blinked and thought a quick prayer of thanks. “I am but sixteen, sir.”

“Ah.” The earl pursed his lips. Clearly he’d hoped to be rid of her before she could start pestering about the Riders again. But although girls of Mhysra’s age were sometimes invited to society parties, it was frowned upon to engage any well-born girl before seventeen, and few married before eighteen. And if there was one thing about Lord Kilpapan that could be counted upon, it was his strict adherence to society’s unwritten rules. “Perhaps not yet then. No matter. Continue as you have been. We will review your progress in the new year.” Picking up his quill, he returned to his figures. It was as polite a dismissal as she could expect, so Mhysra curtsied and left the room.

Milluqua was waiting in the library. “Well?”

Mhysra smiled and tugged her towards the stairs. “Disaster averted.”

Raising her eyebrows, Milluqua glanced back at the study door. “For now.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Chuckling, Mhysra grabbed her skirt and hurried up the stairs, not caring who saw her ankles.

* * * * *

THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER was empty as the steward announced Lyrai and left him to his fate. Walking across the echoing floor, Lyrai glanced up at the galleries where pairs of guards stood at intervals, then looked at the eight men positioned around the dais. Four more waited behind him. All wore the ceremonial armour of Imercian – the sun rising over clouds – with their weapons of status – sword, axe and spear – clasped close. The sapphire-plumed helms faced straight ahead. Statues who came to life only when the Stratys was threatened.

Lyrai wished he could send them away. However statue-like they seemed they weren’t deaf, and he’d never enjoyed meeting his father before an audience. He looked at the throne, unsurprised to find it empty. The Stratys knew Lyrai had no respect for his authority, especially when he lorded it over his youngest son. Instead Lyrai was forced to search the room for his eminent presence.

Wishing there was no need for such games, he paused, boot tapping impatiently. He already knew that the galleries were empty, so didn’t bother looking there. It was also unlikely that the Stratys would lurk behind his own throne. Lyrai looked towards the columned walkways beneath the galleries on the left, with their velvet-shrouded alcoves. More than one secret passageway lay behind those curtains, disguised as frescoes and statues, but Lyrai doubted his father would slink away. He preferred to give his humiliations in person.

Turning to the right, he studied the windows and, sure enough, halfway between his position and the dais, a man sat upon a cushioned sill, staring outside. A handsome specimen, even more handsomely dressed in sumptuous velvet, trimmed with the finest furs. The grey in his brown hair only added to his distinguished appearance. The face that turned as Lyrai bowed was dignified and proud, the eyes pale blue and hard as ice.

“So you have come home,” the Stratys said, his rich voice echoing in the deserted hall.

Lyrai knelt, as was expected, and lowered his head. “Majesty.”

“You have seen your mother and sisters?”

“Yes, sire.”

“They were pleased, no doubt.”

“I hope so, sire.”

“Word has reached us that you are without a mount at present, yet despite this you continue your duties and Captain Myran is full of praise for you.” There was a questioning lilt to the end of the sentence, as if the Stratys couldn’t believe that anyone would think well of his youngest son.

Lyrai clenched his fists and kept his head down. “Captain Myran is all kindness.”

“Indeed.” A strained silence settled, which Lyrai had no idea how to break and his father had no wish to. It had always been this way between them; distant, tense, difficult. Lyrai had long given up trying to understand why. “We trust you will choose more wisely this time.”

He gritted his teeth at the censure. Like most, his Choice had been impulsive. It was just bad luck that it had ended badly. What sixteen-, seventeen- or even eighteen-year-old could be trusted to make such a decision wisely? Even now, at twenty two, his new Choice would be more luck than judgement. It was the way things were.

“We shall await news of your progress. You have not disgraced your family.” The unspoken yet hung in the air. “It was… pleasant to see you.”

Lyrai marvelled at how the man could sound fatherly yet distasteful at the same time. He was also amazed at how many hidden messages could be conveyed in so few words. Not only had he been belittled and disparaged, but also politely banned from returning during his stay as well as dismissed. Impressive.

Rising, he bowed, studying his father from behind his fringe. The Stratys glanced at him, lips pinched disapprovingly at the length of his hair, before he returned to studying the view.

“An honour, as always,” Lyrai murmured, took two steps back and turned. Not for him the polite reverse shuffle all the way to the doors. A sigh huffed behind him and he almost smiled.

As he understood all of the Stratys’ slights and schemes, so his father knew his. Yet while he was within sight of the guards, whose eyes and ears were in full working order, like their loyalty to the Stratys, Lyrai’s expression remained blank.

It wasn’t until he was back in his mother’s carriage that he allowed himself a rueful smile. Such a loving family. “But what would I do with one of those?” he murmured, suddenly eager to end the farce.

The coachman looked startled as Lyrai hopped out of the moving carriage and flicked the man a casual salute. “Thanks for the lift.” Of about twenty feet. Still, he felt a lot better as he sauntered back to the barracks.

Inside the officers’ common room, Stirla looked up from reading a newspaper. “How’d it go?”

Shrugging out of his jacket, Lyrai poured himself a glass of spirits. “Duty done.” He downed his drink, enjoying the burn as it slid down his throat. “Thank the gods.”

Stirla tossed him the paper. “This’ll cheer you up. Kaz-naghkt attack on Kevian. Thirty civilian fatalities, two pyrefliers and mounts, four Riders and six miryhls.”

“Maegla,” Lyrai whispered, sinking into a chair to read the report. “The sooner I get a miryhl and we’re out in the world again, my friend, the better.”

Grunting his agreement, Stirla crossed to the sideboard and poured drinks for them both. They were going to need them.

~ Next Chapter ~

 All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 8, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch8.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Oh, brother…

LYRAI STOOD AT the window of the yellow parlour, counting pigeons as the city flock wheeled over the streets below. The view was beautiful: Nimbys basking in the winter sun. He smiled at the nearby Rider barracks, lying so close at hand. It would have been quicker for him to have walked than to have taken the carriage, but appearances mattered.

So short a journey, yet it felt vast. He’d passed this very building numerous times since his return, but had only seen his family once. Just a brief glimpse of his mother, father and brother on his arrival, when Captain Myran’s officers had paid their respect to the Stratys’ court. He’d been awaiting a summons ever since, knowing his mother would welcome him any time – and his father would not. While appearances mattered to his mother, formalities were everything to his father. She would have needed his permission before daring to invite her second son into her presence.

Lyrai was used to it. Much as he loved his mother and was distantly fond of his sisters, it had been years since he’d felt comfortable with them. Their insular, rarefied world had grown stultifying long before he’d joined the Riders. It was the one family tradition that Lyrai had welcomed. The oldest son was the heir, the next was the spare. One honoured the family by maintaining the legacy, the other died gloriously.

The door opened and heavy steps stumped to a halt. “That you, Lyrai?”

He glanced over his shoulder and blinked. “Henryn. You look… well.”

It was a lie: his brother looked fat. His cheeks were ruddy, while the rest of his skin was pallid and sweaty. His blond hair, even fairer than Lyrai’s, was a unkempt thicket. His clothes were a mess, straining over his paunch, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Late night?”

Pushing the door shut, Henryn shrugged and crossed the room until they were face-to-face. The same height, they shared their father’s eyes mixed with their mother’s colouring. Once they had been alike enough to be mistaken for twins. Now Henryn’s features were fleshy from dissipation, while Lyrai’s had been chiselled by wind and training.

“Rider life suits you,” Henryn said, his tone wistful and Lyrai pitied this brother he barely knew. Their lives had been set on different paths from birth, yet whenever they met they rubbed along well enough. It would have been nice to have known Henryn better. Had he wanted to join the Riders when he was young too? Was he angry that their father – and tradition – had decided differently?

“How’s life in Nimbys treating you?” Henryn asked. “Still flying that pretty feather?”

Lyrai shook his head. “Froth’s been retired. Wounded.”

“Ah. Shame.” They dropped into silence, uncomfortably aware that they knew nothing about each other. Familiar strangers. “You’ll get a new one soon, I dare say.”

“At the Choice,” Lyrai agreed. “I can’t wait. It’s hard being grounded for so long.”

“Yes, ‘spect it is. Not that I’d know. Never flown.” There was that wistfulness again.

While it was tempting to offer empty platitudes about future possibilities, Lyrai held his tongue. His brother would never get off the ground. They lived such vastly different lives.

“How are things in Nimbys these days?” he asked, doing his bit to keep the conversation going.

“Pretty good,” Henryn replied, stepping away from the glare of the window. “Though I’ll be leg-shackled before long. Father’s insisting.”

Lyrai grimaced sympathetically. Henryn had never been interested in girls, or anyone much, at least not that Lyrai had ever heard. He much preferred food, drink and gambling. “Every man has his duty.”

His brother snorted and poured himself some wine. “Begetting brats. My heart races at the prospect.” He drained his goblet in one. “Mother will see to it. She has an eye for the pretty ones. Likes Princess Demolie of Havia, but not sure King Heryff’s keen. That Kilpapan chit is top of the local list, last I checked. Her father’d welcome the match and she’s nice enough. Good connections.”

“Kilpapan?” Lyrai was surprised enough to leave the window, waving away his brother’s offer of wine. “She’s barely sixteen!” Not to mention Wingborn and a Rift Rider in training. Lyrai didn’t add those details – he was too stunned. Did nobles really marry off their daughters so young these days? He stared at his brother and thought of Mhysra. Henryn would crush her flat.

“Sixteen? Ha! She’s past twenty. Don’t let those big eyes fool you, brother, or those dimples. A lovely little armful, but knocking on now. Where’d you meet? Not seen you about, though mother’d gladly accept your escort. Ladies love a uniform. You’d cause a riot.”

Lyrai frowned, reason finally catching up with him. Mhysra was too young to have been brought out yet, nor did she have dimples or could ever be described as cosy, little or an armful. A handful was much more like it. “You mean the older girl? I haven’t met her.”

Henryn raised a sandy eyebrow. “So you’ve met the younger? Heard she’d been dragged in from the wilds and was something of a savage.” He smirked. “Explains how you know her.”

“Her brother’s a Rider,” Lyrai replied coolly. “I’ve seen her about.”

Henryn shrugged, uninterested in people he didn’t know. “The older one’s popular. Has been for years. Too good for me. It’d be a waste.”

“Marrying you is hardly a terrible fate,” Lyrai murmured, returning to the window. “Plenty of girls would jump at the chance.”

“Hm.” Henryn didn’t sound convinced, but then who would when his worth was measured in things he had no control over? Many assumed that Lyrai envied his brother, but it had always been the opposite. He loved being a Rider, loved flying. It was all he’d ever wanted. Henryn was hemmed in, constrained and watched constantly. He had no choices. Not even the identity of his bride. People thought he’d have everything once he inherited, but even then there would be restrictions. No, Lyrai would not switch for the world.

A maid crept in while they reflected in silence. She curtsied to Lyrai, caught sight of Henryn wallowing in his chair and curtsied even deeper. Glancing at Lyrai again, she blushed and stared at the floor. “Her Majesty will see you now,” she murmured, scuttling away.

“Slayer of maids,” Henryn chuckled, draining his wine. “Is’a uniform, I tell you.”

“Go to bed,” Lyrai advised gently as he left. “You’re slurring.”

“Huzzah!” he cheered, toasting Lyrai’s heels. “Means I’m no’ sober ‘nymore.”

Closing the door on his brother’s misery, Lyrai walked along the shadowed corridor and entered an airy chamber. High windows let in light, while fireplaces crackled behind screens, making the room pleasantly warm. Three young women sat painting, embroidering and reading. None of them looked up.

The fourth lady was already on her feet. She smiled, the firelight making her fine hair glow. “Lyrai,” she greeted, voice mellow and soothing. Grey eyes glinted with satisfaction as she caught his hands and opened her arms.

He stepped into her scented embrace, the only place he was at peace in this tower of memories. “Mama, did you miss me?”

Cupping his face, she smiled. “Always, dearest. Always. Now come, I had tea brought up. I thought I’d best invite you before you flittered off again. So busy. Thank you for sparing time for your old mother, and your sisters too. We have missed you, Lyrai.”

Knowing he’d had no choice but to make time, he smiled at the beautiful woman before him, so flighty, yet with a spine of steel and a mind as sharp as a miryhl talon. Political manipulation was her favourite hobby, so ordering her son into attendance was second nature. His mother was a tyrant, but a benevolent one he loved with all his heart. One afternoon was a small sacrifice to ensure her happiness. Sitting down with his indifferent sisters, he made small talk about people he didn’t know, and all the while she smiled at him, proud of what he’d become, and he was content.

The time passed in pleasant idleness, with the most serious discussion concerning the length of this season’s hemlines. By the end Lyrai was full of sugar, tea and relief. His mother appeased, his sisters seen, he’d even spoken with his brother. Duty done. He could go back to his students and wait for the day he would have wings again.

As he descended the stairs and crossed the entrance hall a man blocked his path, disrupting Lyrai’s pleasant thoughts. He eyed the intruder with a sinking heart. It was his father’s steward.

“The Stratys will see you now.”

Raising his eyebrows, Lyrai glanced over his shoulder, but no one else was in sight. The invitation was for him and him alone. Wonderful. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 8, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch8.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Lyrai receives an invitation he can’t refuse, and is that some flirting I see before me? *gasp*

Eight

24th Cold

Though he’d expected a summons from the moment he’d set foot in Nimbys, Lyrai had still hoped for later rather than sooner. Then again, as Stirla pointed out, two moons into his seven-month residency hardly counted as soon. Regardless, Lyrai tensed when a carriage stopped outside the barracks on the third Starday of Cold.

“Trying to be discreet,” Stirla murmured, watching through the window.

Lyrai didn’t answer – he was too busy frowning at the carriage. In a gods-cursed world covered in clouds, horses were impractical and scarce. They were reserved mainly for use on low-lying farm peaks – not in narrow Nimbys, where feet worked best. However, such ideas were unfamiliar to his mother. When Stirla said she was trying to be discreet, he was right: she simply had no idea what the word meant.

“I’d best go,” Lyrai sighed, looking down at himself and wondering if he should change. Having just returned from the cathedral, he was still wearing his dress uniform, complete with impractical white breeches.

“You’ll do,” Honra assured him.

“He could be covered in mud and stinking to Heirayk’s own heaven and his mother would forgive him.” Stirla pinched his fellow lieutenant’s cheek and failed to duck the retaliatory swipe across the head. “For that I hope you meet your father.”

“And I hope Atyrn dumps you in a thorn bush,” Lyrai retorted, shrugging into his jacket.

“Not long now,” Stirla said. “You’ll be flying again soon.”

Lyrai smiled bitterly. “Comforting as that is, it wouldn’t save me from a summons.”

“True,” Stirla agreed, hooking his arm around Lyrai’s neck and dragging him from the room. “Play nicely with your sisters, give your beautiful mother a kiss from me and don’t antagonise your brother.” He paused to straighten Lyrai’s neckcloth before shoving him towards the entrance hall.

“Aye, Grandmother.” Lyrai turned and tugged his forelock. “But it isn’t my brother I’m worried about.” They exchanged wry salutes before Stirla left for the eyries. Only the fact that there was no miryhl awaiting him, and thus no means of escape, stopped Lyrai from following.

Instead he turned to the waiting footman and accepted the gilded invitation, though there was no need to open it. The words inside were a mere formality and ones he could not, under any circumstances, refuse. Not even death was an adequate excuse when his mother sent a carriage.

So he sighed, nodded to the footman and climbed inside. “Milady has spoken, and like a dutiful son, I obey. Lead on.”

* * * * *

MAKING THE MOST of the weak winter sun, Mhysra preened Cumulo outside. Her hair was wrapped in an old scarf, there was a handkerchief tied across her nose and she was wearing her oldest clothes.

“You’re getting lazy, Cue,” she grumbled as she worked beneath his wing. Quill dust and dirt had turned her fingers grey and her nails a lovely sludge brown, while her palms glistened with feather oil. What he really needed was a bath, but the nearest source was the Nimbys reservoir, and having got away with using it once, she didn’t think they should push their luck.

“Why worry about deep preening when I have a Wingborn?” Cumulo rumbled as she emerged. He nudged her and sneezed.

Chuckling, she untied the handkerchief and wiped the mess from her face. As she pulled off the scarf and shook the dust from her hair, he sneezed again and gave her a baleful glare.

“Don’t blame me,” she said. “It’s all yours.”

“Mhysra!”

She raised her head at the unexpected shout and spotted her sister walking across the field, aided and supported by Lieutenant Stirla’s arm. Mhysra couldn’t help smiling at the man’s dazed expression.

“The mighty has fallen,” Cumulo murmured, while Milluqua thanked Stirla prettily and dismissed him with a smile. Looking sun-struck, the poor man wandered back to the eyries.

“Did you have to?” Mhysra asked.

Tearing her gaze from Stirla’s retreating back, Milluqua blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“He’s my lieutenant. He might be my captain when I graduate. Things could get awkward.”

Her sister frowned in confusion, looking beautifully feminine in lilac and lace, such a contrast to her dusty, hoydenish sibling. “Oh, but Lieutenant Stirla was ever so kind. He gave me a tour of the eyries while I was looking for you. Large, isn’t it? More so than anything at Wrentheria. And the miryhls…” Her voice trailed off as she stared back towards the eyries. “So kind.”

Cumulo chuckled, but Mhysra shook her head. “He’s not even a captain yet, Milli. Father would not approve.”

Milluqua’s eyes widened innocently. However, when Mhysra arched her eyebrows, she sighed. “There are good families in the Riders.”

“Amongst others,” Mhysra reminded her gently. “Lieutenant Stirla is of that other variety.”

“He was nice to me and has lovely eyes,” the older woman murmured dreamily. “He’s terribly handsome, especially with that scar. And so tall. He makes me feel fragile.”

Considering how small Milluqua was, Mhysra would like meet the man who didn’t make her feel fragile. Especially if he was a Rider. “He’s a flirt and Derry says he has a shocking reputation.”

“Really?” Milluqua asked, feigning nonchalance. “I do like to flirt.”

Rolling her eyes, Mhysra scrubbed her hands with her scarf. “What brings you up here? Is the season so dull you must seek entertainment elsewhere?”

Her sister smiled, all dimples and prettiness, showing why she was still one of the most sought after ladies in the city, even at the advanced age of twenty-two. “Hardly. It was a relief to stay home last night. I’ve worn through three pairs of slippers this past half-moon!”

“It gives Bumble something to chew,” Mhysra said absently, plucking a crooked feather from Cumulo’s chest and making him squawk. Recalling her manners, Milluqua greeted the miryhl and he lowered his head for a scratch. She was one of his favourite people.

“Father asked for you,” she said, as Cumulo returned to looking aloof and magnificent.

Mhysra wrinkled her nose. “He’s already seen me this quarter-moon.” Since she’d ceased pestering her father about joining the Riders they’d seen little of each other. Their paths occasionally crossed at dinner, but only when he wasn’t escorting Milluqua somewhere. As such, he called her to his study each quarter-moon for a progress report. He thought she spent her days learning ladylike behaviour from her sister and occasionally visiting her miryhl. The fact that she was growing toned from her training passed unnoticed. All that mattered was whether she could pour tea correctly, was losing her country accent and could curtsey appropriately to those above her rank, with subtle differences for those below.

It was immensely tedious, but since it was the only time she had to see her father Mhysra accepted it, and valued the etiquette lessons she suffered through at school. Part of her was sad that she had so little in common with her father, but she was also relieved. If they shared even one interest he might pay more attention and her secret would be out. Which was why any change in routine made her nervous.

“Do you know why?”

Milluqua shook her head. “I gave up second guessing father years ago. Mostly he’s as predictable as the seasons, but every so often he’ll surprise us just for the fun of it. It discourages complacency.”

“Lovely,” Mhysra sighed and gave Cumulo a farewell pat. There would be no flying today.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 7, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch7.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

What’s that? A Wingborn? But Wingborn don’t exist! Hahaha-Argh! Cue, let me go! Lemme go!

THE NEXT MORNING Mhysra and Derrain met up with Dhori on their walk through the city. The air was icy, promising a blizzard before dark. Not that Hethanon cared, sending them off on another punishing run. Cold to the bone, the students trudged to their training masters and went through the motions with mind-numbing weariness.

“Tired, my lambs?” Hethanon cooed, but his smile rapidly faded. “Toughen up or leave.”

The next morning brought the first desertions, with not one training master retaining all their students. Sergeant Rees’ line looked particularly thin. Mouse had lost his partner already and, unfortunately for him, was obliged to train with Lieutenant Lyrai instead.

“He’s evil,” he whimpered at midday, flexing his shoulders. “It’s bad enough when he’s shouting, but working with him is torture. He wants to kill me.”

“You’re getting off lightly.” Harlan was unsympathetic. “Try having Rees on your back.”

Mouse changed his tune the following quarter-moon when he was paired with Mhysra, after another student left and Dhori was moved to work with someone else. It was a day of changes. Since they could all now manage the exercises without injury, Hethanon brought out staffs for them to use.

“The staff is an all-purpose weapon, in training and in combat. Master it and you may try something more difficult. No one picks up a sword who cannot handle a staff. This is the opening exercise.”

Mhysra was soon grateful to be opposite Mouse, who though shorter was of equal strength. At Wrentheria, Mhysra had taken daily staff lessons with her cousins from the age of seven, and had yet to develop any fondness for it. By contrast, Dhori looked as though he’d been born to wield it. Lieutenant Lyrai complimented the lad on his prowess and sparred with him to demonstrate how a sequence of moves should be done at full speed. Not that the rest of them did the same. For now everything was done slowly, building up their muscles and numbing their brains.

The afternoons were no better, and Mhysra finally understood her brother’s complaints about the selection school. It was no wonder so many students dropped out – the boredom was staggering. Only her new friends and the thought of Cumulo kept her going.

* * * * *

WINTER MIGHT HAVE been holding Nimbys in a merciless grip, but after completing her first quarter-moon of Rider training, Mhysra couldn’t remember feeling happier. That morning she’d attended the service at the Cathedral of Maegla, sitting in the seats reserved for the Riders. She’d been able to do it without fear, since her father attended the service for Heirayk, God of the Sun, held elsewhere in the city.

Now she was with Cumulo, preparing him for their first flight in days.

“Hurry up,” her impatient miryhl ordered. “I’ve got so much to show you.”

While Mhysra might not have had time for flying lately, didn’t mean he hadn’t been out on his own. “You’ve become quite the adventurer without me, haven’t you?” she chuckled, running her hands under his girths to check they weren’t twisted and his feathers weren’t ruffled.

As she brushed beneath his belly, he jumped. “That tickles.”

“Sorry.”

“As you can see there’s space here for upwards of a hundred birds.” A familiar voice drifted in from outside. Mhysra and Cumulo looked up. Lieutenant Lyrai was outlined in the doorway, a handful of students clustered behind him. Mhysra’s heart sank.

Cumulo chuckled. “Now you’re in for it.”

“Hide me,” she muttered, diving under his wing.

“Mhysra,” he rumbled, half-amused, half-exasperated. “That isn’t going to work.”

“Hush.”

“We have around fifty miryhls at the moment, from the combined Riders of Lieutenant Stirla’s and my flurries. The other half of Captain Myran’s flight is patrolling the mountain communities around Nimbys.”

They were coming closer. Mhysra shrank against Cumulo’s side and held her breath.

“Whose miryhl is that, sir?” a familiar voice asked, making Mhysra bite back a groan: Corin.

“Why is it tacked up?” And Mouse. Lovely.

“And why does it have two extra legs?” She was going to kill Derrain. After she killed Cumulo; she could feel his chuckles across her whole body. “Two human legs. A new breed?”

Lieutenant Lyrai laughed – he actually laughed – and Mhysra remembered why she didn’t like him. “Either you’ve been caught, student, or something’s terribly wrong with Cumulo.”

“Cumulo?” Mouse chirped. “Is that the miryhl’s name?”

Cumulo, the traitor, raised his wing and nudged his Wingborn out into the light, his rumbling laughter audible to everyone as she emerged ruffled and flushed.

“Mhysra!” Everyone but the lieutenant, Derrain and, strangely, Dhori chorused in surprise.

Pushing her hair off her face, Mhysra mustered a weak smile. “Afternoon, everyone.”

“Why are you hiding under that miryhl’s -” At Cumulo’s indignant squawk, Corin apologised. “- sorry, Cumulo’s wing? Did you tack him up? Are you going to fly?”

“Is that allowed?” one of the other students, a girl Mhysra didn’t know, demanded.

“Are there miryhls we can practise on? Can we fly too?” an unfamiliar boy wanted to know.

“Can we?” Corin and Mouse echoed, turning to Lyrai with excitement.

Looking almost as startled as Mhysra, the lieutenant raised his eyebrows. “No.”

“Then how come she gets to?” the unfamiliar girl asked.

Derrain smirked. “Yes, Mhysra, how come you get to fly Cumulo?”

She glared at her friend and realised everyone was staring at her, waiting for an answer. She studied the straw wisps on the floor and mumbled, “He’s mine.”

“What was that?”

“What did she say?

“Speak up!”

“He’s mine,” she repeated, raising her voice.

Silence greeted her announcement.

Then Corin frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” said one of the boys. “I thought only Riders or ruling families could own a miryhl.” He eyed Mhysra critically. “Don’t tell us you’re the daughter of the Stratys.”

Lieutenant Lyrai choked on his amusement and she scowled at him.

“There is another exception to that rule,” Dhori said, calm in the face of their confusion and growing resentment. When everyone turned to him, he smiled. “Wingborn are allowed miryhls.” At Cumulo’s low rumble, his smile broadened. “Wingborn miryhls are allowed humans too.”

“I like him,” Cumulo whispered in her ear.

“You would.”

The group fell silent, blinking at each other. Then Corin’s lips began to twitch, Mouse started snickering and the whole lot of them burst into laughter.

“Wingborn!”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

“We might be newbies, but we aren’t that stupid.”

“Wingborn, ha!”

As they continued to laugh, Mhysra sighed and rested her head against Cumulo’s neck.

“Should have known we couldn’t fool you,” Lieutenant Lyrai chuckled. “You’re such a smart bunch. What was I thinking?”

While the students continued to laugh, Mhysra grew fed up of listening. “Glad to amuse you,” she grumbled, interrupting another round of, “Got to get up early to fool us, sir,” and “I haven’t believed in Wingborn since I was eight!”

“Come on, Cue.”

Sensing her mood, he didn’t argue, hopping to the nearest hatch and diving out. Shoving students aside and elbowing Derrain along the way, Mhysra stalked after her miryhl.

“Where are you going?” Mouse asked, bouncing after her. “It was a good joke.”

“I’m off to fly my imaginary Wingborn,” she retorted, still smarting from being laughed at. It was like being back in the offices again, facing down Clerk Brenai in front of all the Riders.

“This I have to see,” one of the strangers chuckled, no doubt anticipating a quick dismount.

Mhysra smiled. She might not have liked the laughter, but she was going to enjoy this.

“Are you sure?” Corin eyed Cumulo warily. Standing with his chest puffed out, he looked regal, intimidating and huge. “He’s so big.”

Mhysra snorted, both at Cumulo’s display and her sudden lack of escorts. The students had halted ten feet away, none daring to come any closer. Derrain and Lieutenant Lyrai stood smirking at the back.

“Idiots,” she grumbled, and stepped onto Cumulo’s lowered wing. When he boosted her into the saddle, she settled down to gasps from the students.

“You don’t have to do this,” Corin called worriedly. “I believe you.”

“She doesn’t,” Cumulo said, as if Mhysra had been foolish enough to think otherwise.

“Sir, you have to stop her,” Mouse pleaded with the lieutenant.

“She could get hurt,” Corin protested.

“She could,” Lyrai agreed, smiling at Mhysra’s glare. “But she won’t. Have a little faith. They know what they’re doing.”

Having tinkered long enough with things that didn’t need adjusting, Mhysra tucked up her legs and gathered the reins. “When you’re ready, Cue.”

“All right, chickling,” he chuckled, opened his wings and screamed. As the students covered their ears – and Corin covered her eyes – Cumulo crouched and sprang upwards, thumping the air with great flaps of his wings. Another, then another, got them airborne and spiralling on the updrafts to gasps of awe. “Always nice to be appreciated.”

Lying against his back, Mhysra chuckled. “Show-off.”

“No one doubts my Wingborn and gets away with it.” So saying, he let his left wing drop, banking towards the cliffs, and swept back across the field over their audience’s head.

She clung to his back, familiar with her arrogant miryhl’s routine, while Cumulo executed an array of tricks that left the crowd below in no doubt about who he belonged to. Satisfied, he rose above an appreciative chorus of cheers and whistles.

Reaching forward, she hugged him hard. “You’re my hero.”

“Anytime, chickling,” he chuckled, carrying them into the winter sunshine. “Anytime.”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 7, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch7.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

New friends! And far too much exercise for a Sunday morning.

“NOT… WHAT… I… expect-ed,” Derrain puffed as they completed their laps. They were among the first to finish, though plenty had claimed to be done earlier. Except the little man with the big voice had the eyes of a hawk. The cheaters probably wished they hadn’t bothered now, Mhysra thought, watching the stragglers stump out two extra laps.

“Evil,” she gasped, bending over to catch her breath. Before this morning she’d thought herself fit. At Wrentheria she regularly ran with the fledgling miryhls, encouraging them to fly, or played chase with her cousins and the nakhounds. This was torture, with every breath stabbing frozen knives inside her chest. Even Derrain was worn out and he was used to scrambling around skyships in the middle of a storm, hauling himself up ropes and other such daring stuff.

“Still alive, though,” Derrain said as he straightened. “I feel ready for anything now.” He stretched his arms and went to fetch their coats from the pile of discarded clothing.

“Unnatural,” Mhysra grumbled, noticing some of the other girls eyeing her friend. She smiled when one walked over and introduced herself.

“I’m Corin.”

Derrain shrugged into his coat and grinned. “I’m Derrain, and she’s Mhysra.”

Mhysra straightened and nodded politely, surprised when the girl dragged her eyes away from Derrain long enough to nod back. Short and stocky, Corin was pretty when she smiled, lighting up her amber eyes. “You both did well back there. I don’t think you got barked at once.”

“All right for some.” A scrawny girl limped over, clutching her ribs. “I never moved so much in me life, and all to get back where we started. Ain’t what I was expecting. Ulla.”

“Corin,” the short girl replied, and pointed at the others. “Derrain. Mhysra. I’ve seen you around the docks.”

The scrawny girl nodded, scratching her tight brown curls. “Aye. Me da’s a gladhand.” Which was docker slang for men who turned their hand to anything to earn a coin. She nodded at Corin. “You’re merchant stock.” She looked at Derrain. “You’re off the ships.” Turning to Mhysra, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re new. Don’t know what you do, but I seen you about.”

“Impressing people again, Ulla Bright-Eyes?” asked a tall boy with a broad grin.

“Harlan,” the girl grumbled. “An’ Mouse.” This was said to the small lad in Harlan’s shadow. Whereas one boy was tall and exuded confidence, the other was small and fidgety. “Thought you said you weren’t gonna bother.”

“I needed to do something over the winter.” Harlan shrugged. He looked too fine for the Riders, with his artfully arranged curls and brightly polished boots.

While they waited for the rest of the new students to finish, they got to know each other a little. Corin and Harlan’s parents both ran moderately successful skyships, Mouse was Harlan’s cousin, fresh from the mid-Imercian country and Ulla had grown up on the docks. Being his usual charming self, Derrain quickly fitted right in. He was just explaining how he knew Mhysra when their instructor clapped his hands.

“Who wants to go home now?”

Harlan looked at his muddied boots and sighed, making the others chuckle. There were a few discontented mutters from the crowd, but no one left. The little man smiled, the expression filling Mhysra with dread.

“Good. I am Hethanon Armsmaster and your mornings belong to me now. With me you run and sweat until you break. Eventually I may let you touch a weapon. Because before you go near a miryhl with a pointy object, you must prove you can use it without maiming yourself. Understood?”

There were a couple of mutters, a few affirmative replies, but mostly subdued silence.

“So much to learn,” Hethanon said pityingly. “When I ask a question, you reply. Understood?”

“Yes,” they replied, mostly together.

“Something is missing, students,” Hethanon continued, voice stern. “When I speak, you answer, and when you do you call me sir. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Better,” Hethanon said. “Now your instructors. Real Rift Riders whose time could be better spent than on you. Do not waste it, do not test their patience and do not forget that they are worthy of your respect.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Sergeants Honra and Rees,” Hethanon introduced, pointing to each. “Lieutenants Stirla and Lyrai. You address them as sir and obey at the first time of asking. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Then pay attention. You are too many, but that will change. For now I will divide you up, and you will not complain!” His bark silenced the dissenters before they even began. Mhysra shot Derrain a worried glance; she hoped she was in his group.

“I will point at you and say a name. That is your group. Go stand by them.” Hethanon nodded at the Riders, who spread out. “My group wait in the middle.” He started to point, barking Stirla, Honra, mine, Lyrai or Rees, making more than one student jump. His method was swift and effective, splitting up any groups he spotted and placing any potential troublemakers under his or Sergeant Rees’ command.

“Stirla.” He pointed at Derrain, who sighed with relief.

“Honra.” He pointed at Corin.

“Mine.” Ulla.

“Lyrai.” Mouse.

“Rees.” Harlan.

He divided the group in front of Mhysra, before coming back. “Lyrai.”

Her heart sank and she trudged towards her line. The lieutenant was expressionless, despite the eight students chattering behind him. She joined Mouse, who was pitifully pleased to see her. A couple of lines over, Derrain made a sad face, though he had nothing to complain about in Stirla. It was just her luck to end up with the man she already knew didn’t like her.

When Hethanon finished, she looked at her line and suppressed a sigh. She was the only girl. Stirla and Honra had two each, Hethanon had three. There were none in Rees’ group.

“Great.”

Mouse smiled shyly. “Bet I’m the last person you wanted to be with, but it’ll be good, you’ll see. But if it does get bad we can always thank Heirayk we’re not stuck with Rees.”

“There’s a bright side,” she said, morosely studying the other boys in their line. Two were highborn, and showed it. Four were friends already, while the remaining two didn’t seem to know anyone. One was even smaller than Mouse. He was shaking and she doubted he would last long. The other was tall and calm, looking around curiously. Catching Mhysra’s eye, he smiled.

“All right, everyone.” Lieutenant Lyrai clapped his hands for their attention. “I’m going to teach you some exercises to build up your strength and keep you warm, then we’ll do more to improve your fitness. The Rift Riders are about more than flying pretty birdies.” He caught Mhysra’s eye, and she could have sworn there was a hint of a smile as he recalled the day she’d forced her way into the Riders. Then his gaze passed on and he was as cold as ever.

“I’m sticking with you,” Mouse whispered as Lieutenant Lyrai began pairing people off, telling them about Rider life – it wasn’t easy, they had to be fit and willing to fight, and so on. Reaching them, he pointed Mhysra to the far side of the line and positioned Mouse next to her.

Mhysra bit back a smile as Mouse groaned: he hadn’t got his wish. Standing opposite her was the lad who’d smiled earlier. Mouse was paired with the timid boy. It was obvious why the lieutenant had done it, since they were of a similar size. And twitchy temperament.

“I’m Dhori,” the lad opposite her said, as tall as she was and just as lightly built.

“Mhysra.”

That was all they had time for, because the lieutenant was talking again, demonstrating stretches, jumps, pattern steps, blocks and holds, some of which required two people, hence the pairings. A quick glance around showed that everyone else was doing similar exercises. She smiled at Dhori and started counting star jumps, followed by tucks. It looked daft, but she wasn’t alone in her folly. Derrain and Ulla had had it right earlier – this wasn’t what she’d expected. Not at all.

* * * * *

THEY TRAINED UNTIL noon, then were shown the bathing chambers beneath the Rider offices. Fresh uniforms waited and, once clean and changed, they ate in the hall. Afterwards they were divided into those who were literate and those who weren’t. Since there were only twelve who couldn’t write, the remaining thirty-two were split again into two groups. This time Mhysra managed to stay with Derrain. They were joined by Harlan, Mouse, Corin and Dhori. Ulla had been one of the first to leave, being able to read a little but not write at all.

Though the students’ mornings might belong to Armsmaster Hethanon, their afternoons lay in the hands of the clerks. They would test their literacy and arithmetic as well as teaching them geography, history and languages. The lieutenants would instruct them about life in the Riders later in the term.

Mhysra tried to take in all the things being said, but she was not the only one smothering yawns after their busy morning.

“Remember we asked for this,” Derrain murmured, as they settled into a classroom.

If she’d had more energy she would have hit him.

“Now we know why there are so few Riders,” Harlan grumbled. His boots were now sadly scuffed. “Gods, I don’t think I can take this.”

“Don’t be soft,” Corin scolded. “This is a great opportunity. I’m not giving up yet, not after a paltry bit of exercise. I might change my mind when they start lecturing us on poetry, but I’m hoping they’ll skip that.”

“They save it for Aquila,” Dhori said, taking the seat next to Mhysra.

“That’s something to look forward to,” Mouse chuckled.

Corin and Mhysra groaned, “Great,” and shared a grin.

Moaning, Harlan put his head on the desk. “Wake me if anything interesting happens.”

It didn’t, and at the end of the day Mhysra waved farewell to her new friends before going to see Cumulo. He hopped down two perches to meet her.

“Well? How did it go?”

Smiling, she tickled his head. “It’ll do.” She’d made some friends and if it stayed like this everything would be fine. “I can cope.”

Tilting his head for a stroke, he sighed with relief. “Good. Tell me the same tomorrow.”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 7, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch7.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

So it begins…

Seven

11th Blizzard

It was still dark when Mhysra crept down the backstairs, but the servants were already hard at work. Maids pumped water for the laundry, cleaned fireplaces and fetched milk, eggs and newspapers from the markets, while Cook prepared breakfast. The butler designated the day’s tasks to the footmen and the boot boy worked on his basket of shoes. No one paid any attention to the earl’s daughter slipping between them. It wasn’t the first time and everyone knew it wouldn’t be the last.

Only Cook acknowledged her, handing her a warm pastry with a smile. “Luck, my lady.”

Mhysra grinned and stepped out into the darkness, glad she’d left her puppy behind. “Please behave,” she murmured to the absent Bumble.

“I’ll be the best boy in the city, I promise.”

“Derry!” she yelped, grabbing his shoulders as he goosed her ribs. “Don’t do that. Gods!”

He grinned at her overreaction. “Nervous?”

Nervous was too weak a word for how she felt – bone-deep terrified was more like it. Just because she’d grown up around miryhls, was Wingborn and had been flying all her life, didn’t mean this was going to be easy.

“Me too,” Derrain chuckled, shivering. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

“Not on the first day,” she agreed, blowing into her gloves. “But by next quarter-moon you’ll be singing a different tune.”

* * * * *

“OH, HAPPY DAY.” Stirla was in a disgustingly good mood as he met Lyrai in the Rider’s mess at dawn. But then he would be – he was on morning duty, so getting up this ungodly hour was normal. Lyrai wasn’t. His flurry didn’t fly until the afternoon, so he had every right to still be sleeping. Yet, as an officer, his presence was expected. He hated being stuck in Nimbys.

“This is the first day of a glorious future. Aren’t you excited?”

Lyrai grunted, his mouth full of eggs, a handy excuse not to talk, and was relieved when his sergeant sat down beside him.

“Morning, Honra,” Stirla greeted.

“Morning.” Honra was a pleasant-natured fellow, an experience Rider and the perfect go-between for the occasionally stiff and moody Lyrai and his flurry. Honra never got offended, even when Lyrai was having an off-day, of which there had been a many since Froth retired. When Lyrai finished his captaincy training he planned to back his sergeant for promotion. He’d earned it the hard way.

Stirla and Honra chatted amiably throughout breakfast, while Lyrai pretended he was still sleeping like sensible folk. When they finished, he followed them outside, where they met Stirla’s sergeant, Rees – a sharp-tempered Rider who rarely spoke when he could bark. He’d been paired with Stirla to provide the distance an officer needed from his men. Stirla was too quick to share jokes with everyone. Rees, it was suspected, had no sense of humour. His response to Stirla’s cheerful greeting was a sullen grunt.

It was another fine winter morning in Nimbys, with frost shimmering on the flying field and snow dotting the cliffs. The air was freezing, but it hardly mattered since the fifty new students were too nervous to stand still. Had the weather been inclement, they would still have been expected to wait outside, blizzard, hail or sleet. They didn’t realise how lucky they were.

Between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, they ranged across the social spectrum from the son of a duke to a couple of dockhands. Anyone could enter a selection school if they had a recommendation from a guardian or sponsor of consequence, and handed it in before the deadline. Or after, Lyrai amended, spotting Lady Mhysra in the crowd. Special treatment was understandable for a Wingborn. As long as she didn’t expect it too often.

Of the fifty, Lyrai counted eight girls, some not looking fit enough to run one lap of the field, let alone fly a thousand miles. The same could be said for the boys, but that was the point of the selection training. Fifty students might apply to each of the six schools across the Overworld, but over the course of the next two seasons most would drop out. Some wouldn’t be able to take the discipline, others would find the training too tough. There might even be failures at the end of year exams, easy though they were reputed to be.

Then, and only then, would they be allowed to choose a miryhl and move to Aquila. Only the most dedicated and capable lasted that long. If they were left with twenty students at the end of all this Lyrai would consider it a bumper crop. Ten would be average. He wondered how many would be girls.

“Morning, everyone!” A brusque voice rang out, silencing most of chatter as the students turned towards the speaker. Short, stocky and scarred, Hethanon Armsmaster was the best selection trainer the Riders had ever had. He took no cheek from anyone, regardless of who they were born to be. A native of Ihra, an isolated state to the north, he knew everything about harsh conditions and human limitations. He pushed his students hard, because he expected them to be the best. Lyrai had studied under his yoke and had nothing but respect for him. He didn’t look like much, but a boy underestimated him at his peril. Same for the girls.

Though most of the crowd was quiet, two girls continued to gossip, while a knot of boys snickered. Honra clucked his tongue and the lieutenants shared a smirk. Rees sniffed.

“Lieutenant Stirla, if you please,” Hethanon invited.

Topping six feet in height, with shoulders to match, Stirla had an imposing presence when he chose to use it. “Silence!” Not to mention a ferocious bellow.

The students flinched, the hush so complete a pair of squabbling ravens halfway up the cliff could be heard in raucous detail.

Hethanon stepped forward. “Obedience is the first rule of the Rift Riders. Respect for command. The ability to hold your tongue,” he added, glaring at a whispering lad; the boy blushed. “Insolence breeds contempt and mistrust. A Rider follows his officer, no matter what. To question is to die. To disobey is to die. To disrespect is to die. If you cannot obey you have no business here. No one is forcing you. No one will stop you. Leave if you will.”

He looked around as if he could see every face in the crowd, even those right at the back. None dared make eye contact. There was a lot of nervous shifting and a few titters, but nobody left. Most would likely believe it shameful to walk before the day began. They’d learn better soon enough.

“Five laps of the field!” Hethanon’s bark made everyone – Riders included – jump.

The youngsters stared at each other in dismay. No one moved.

“If you cannot obey an order, what are you doing here? Five laps. Now!”

They obeyed reluctantly, breaking into groups as they trotted towards the far end of the field, slipping and sliding over the ice. Complaints abounded, along with insults about pipsqueaks who thought too much of themselves.

Hethanon rocked smugly on his heels. When the students reached the cliffs, he turned to the lieutenants. “Shall we show them how it is done?”

“No.” Stirla had never studied under Hethanon, but he’d heard the rumours. Which was why when Hethanon started jogging Stirla and the others went too.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 6, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch6.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Farewell, Mherrin! And, excuse me, Lieutenant Stirla, but just what are you up to?

Six

10th Blizzard

“It’s pure spite.” As Mhysra vigorously combed tangles out of the horsat’s mane, her puppy growled from the doorway. “See, Bumble agrees. She’s heard them too.”

Mherrin snorted and pushed Ripple’s wing out of the way so he could brush her side. The horsat stood patiently, tracking both humans’ movements with her swivelling ears.

“Didn’t it take Kilai years to get permission?” Derrain asked, lounging in the doorway.

“Two very long years,” Milluqua agreed from her seat on an upturned bucket, where she was checking the braiding on Ripple’s reins. A lady she might be, but she’d also been raised in Wrentheria.

“You didn’t have to live with his sulking,” Mherrin groaned. “How we suffered!”

Milluqua sniffed. “You didn’t have to put up with the earl’s disapproval.”

“At least it isn’t aimed at you,” Mhysra grumbled, attacking Ripple’s tail. “And it never will be.”

“Bitterness does not become you, dearest,” Derrain cooed, ducking the brush she threw at his head. The puppy barked and strained her lead to reach it. “Here you go, bumbling pup.” Derrain gave her the brush and she settled down with it between her paws, tail wagging, teeth chomping.

“You can’t give her that!” Mhysra snatched it away. “She’ll break it.”

“You shouldn’t have throw it then. Bumble might get hurt.”

While they bickered, Milluqua handed the bridle to her cousin. “Tell Mhylo to take better care of his tack – the braiding is badly frayed. Ripple’s a good mare, but it’s not something you want unravelling mid-flight.”

“Thanks, Milli. I’ll let him know, not that he’ll be grateful. Lazy git.” Kissing her cheek, Mherrin began tacking up. When Mhysra put Ripple’s saddle on, he caught her eye. “You are going to hand that letter in, aren’t you?”

“Depends,” she mumbled. Her cousin raised his eyebrows and she focused on the buckles. Since he was the one who’d forged her father’s signature, he should have been the one advising caution as the one who would have the most to lose if they were caught. Then again Mherrin never did have much sense. Whereas she probably had too much misdirected honour. “I just wish they’d say yes. It doesn’t feel right starting out this way.”

Her cousin gave a cheerful shrug. “More fool them. And more fool you.” He tweaked her nose. “I can’t see why you’d want to work with those toffs, but since you do and it’s what Cumulo needs, good luck to you, cuz.”

“And you.” Ducking under Ripple’s neck, she threw her arms about Mherrin. He was her favourite cousin and she’d miss him. The past four days had been horrible and full of arguments, but Mherrin had made it bearable. He could always cheer her up.

“Don’t get dismal now,” he murmured, and she smiled.

“Watch your back.” She patted him between his shoulder blades. “A lone flyer is always vulnerable, especially on a horsat.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve flown even more than you, Wingborn. I can take care of myself.”

“Make sure you do,” Milluqua said sternly, coming over to neaten his collar. “I’d be displeased if anything happened to you.”

Mherrin glanced despairingly at Derrain. “Girls!”

Derrain smirked, but wisely said nothing. Instead he untied Bumble and moved aside so Ripple could leave her stall unmolested. “Fast winds and clear skies.”

“Try not to die of boredom at school.” Once outside, Mherrin hopped into the saddle and tucked his knees beneath Ripple’s wings. The horsat shivered all over and pranced with readiness. At Mherrin’s signal, she lifted her head and galloped for the takeoff ramp, wings unfurling. One beat, two, she hit top speed and leapt.

For a moment they hung weightless over the sheer drop to the Cloud Sea, hundreds of feet below, then the wind filled Ripple’s enormous wings and she soared. Spiralling on the updraft, leathery wings spread wide, she circled and rose with each lazy flap. With a final wave, Mherrin gathered his reins and Ripple powered forward with great thrusts of her wings, her legs galloping on the air, and away they went.

Mhysra sighed, wishing she could go too. She missed her miryhl chicks, the lively manor, the calm lake and Cumulo’s ridiculous attempts to dominate the bullwing herd. But that was her old life, over a thousand miles away. A life where women were excluded from the Riders and the occasional miryhl could be spared. Things were different now. If only her parents would agree.

“Here we go,” Milluqua muttered, and Mhysra realised she’d clenched her jaw.

“If you’re off to pick another fight, I’ll bid you good day,” Derrain said, slapping Bumble’s lead into her hand. “Lieutenant Stirla offered to show me the eyries.”

Unable to face another argument, Mhysra smiled wearily. “I’ll come too, if you don’t mind.”

Milluqua sighed with relief and snatched Bumble’s lead. “Excellent idea. I’ll take this one. Make sure you’re back in time for dinner.” Not waiting in case Mhysra changed her mind, her sister hurried off as if a pack of pyreflies were nipping at her heels.

Chuckling, Derrain hooked his arm through hers. “Seems you’re stuck with me then.”

“Seems I am.” Mhysra wrinkled her nose. “However will I cope?”

* * * * *

“BEAUTIFUL, SO BEAUTIFUL. Who knew letting women back in the Riders would reap such exquisite rewards?”

Eyebrows raised, Lyrai led the visitors through the eyries towards the cooing voice. The place were mostly deserted at this time of day, with one flurry on duty and the other preferring to escape the cold. Everyone, that is, except Stirla. Since Lyrai could see Stirla’s miryhl, Atyrn, hunched miserably near the doors, it was safe to assume the lieutenant was busy elsewhere.

“Absolutely glorious. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to spend your life with me? I’d treat you as wonderfully as you deserve. I could -”

Lyrai led the two youngsters within sight of the love-struck lieutenant and coughed. Since one of the visitors happened to be bonded to the miryhl Stirla was sweet-talking, Lyrai grinned as his friend spun around. Despite all the scrapes they’d been caught in over the years, Lyrai had never seen Stirla look guilty before. This was very interesting.

“Er…”

“Afternoon, Stirla. Hope we’re not interrupting.”

The girl folded her arms and glared, while the boy lounged against an unused perch, grinning.

Stirla inched away from the miryhl, making innocent gestures with his hands. “Um…”

The miryhl lowered his head and chuckled, so the girl turned her scowl on him.

“If you want rid of me, Cue, just say.”

Cumulo raised his head and squawked. Feathers rose on his face and head, and he glowered at Stirla. The lieutenant ducked under a perch and backed away.

“Don’t you blame him,” the girl snapped. “Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, Cumulo. And don’t try that innocent act on me.” The miryhl had been making supplicating purrs, but at this his feathers fluffed up with affront. “Nor that either. I’m wise to all your tricks. I know they approach you, but you encourage them. Thirteen offers, Cue. Thirteen!”

Stirla slunk over to Lyrai. “If I’d known I was part of a crowd, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Lyrai patted him sympathetically on the shoulder, just as the girl spun on her heel and jabbed a finger in Stirla’s direction. “And you should be ashamed of yourself – trying to cozen a miryhl away from his bonded. Especially when you’ve a perfectly good mount of your own.” She shoved her miryhl aside and approached Atyrn, stroking the neglected eagle with soothing hands. “Such a beauty too. Men are so stupid not to value a treasure when they have one.”

“She has a point,” Lyrai murmured. Even bigger than Cumulo, Atyrn was the envy of many Riders. So dark she was almost black, she was strong and had the best endurance of their flight. She was also steadfast and willing to push through any weather. There were few better miryhls to be had than Atyrn. “Badly done, my friend.”

Lady Mhysra snorted scornfully. “As if you weren’t the first to approach Cue,” she muttered. Stirla and the lad laughed, but the girl ignored them. She was wary of him, Lyrai knew. Unlike Stirla, who was friendly and flirtatious, young women made Lyrai nervous. It was bad enough when he was obliged to spend time with his sisters, and they were family. He never knew how to treat them. Apparently, Mhysra felt the same way towards him. Under normal circumstances, Lyrai would be delighted to be avoided, but when she became a student… He’d have to work on his manners.

“Come on, Mhysra, don’t be grouchy,” Derrain cajoled. “As if Cumulo would leave you. He’s put up – I mean you’ve put up with him for sixteen years.”

She smiled reluctantly. “You’re not Mherrin.”

“But I get points for trying, right?” the lad appealed to the lieutenants.

She shoved his shoulder. “Give over, Derry. Didn’t you want something here?”

As the boy turned to Stirla, Lyrai watched the girl murmur to Atyrn, while the miryhl rubbed her affectionately on the shoulder with her head. Then, despite Cumulo’s jealous growls, Mhysra kissed the eagle’s beak. Only after she had checked her friend was still busy with Stirla did she approach her bonded. Hooking his beak over her shoulder, Cumulo and tugged her close and hustled her under his wing. The girl protested and the miryhl turned his head so they could argue in whispers.

It was quite a sight and Lyrai leant against a perch to watch. Cumulo treated her like a naughty chick and she treated him like an annoying little brother, but there was a thread of affection running through their partnership that he’d never seen before. Even in the oldest pairs the interactions were more of comrades and friends than family. Perhaps that was the real sign of a Wingborn.

A prod on the arm drew him back to the present.

Stirla grinned at him. “I’m showing Derrain around. Want to come, or are you busy?”

Since Lyrai was grounded, they both knew he had no reason to be in the eyries. Especially when his flurry was on patrol, meaning he couldn’t even spring a surprise inspection. The only thing worth looking at was the girl and her Wingborn.

“I’ve got paperwork to do.”

“Oh aye,” Stirla said with a exaggerated wink. “Paperwork, is it? Come along, young Derrain, let’s leave my esteemed colleague to his work.” Still chuckling, Stirla took the lad off, leaving the girl and her miryhl to argue. Lyrai glanced at them, then turned away. Regardless of what Stirla thought was going on, Lyrai missed having a miryhl. Seeing others with theirs made his feet itch and an empty ache fill his chest. Not that he’d been close to Froth.

It had been a bad decision from the start. To an awestruck sixteen-year-old desperate to impress his peers and parents, the pale gold female as swift as the wind had seemed like an excellent choice. Everyone said how well they looked together. Unfortunately, she was a little too vain, a bit too lazy and far too full of herself. That was how she’d ended up injured. Lyrai hadn’t even been flying her at the time. No, his foolish bonded had ruined herself on her own time, showing off to the rest of the flurry and clipping a wing on a cliff.

Turning his back on the eyries, Lyrai headed for the offices. He really did have paperwork to do. Not that he’d intended to do it – Rift Rider officers rarely did – but it wasn’t as though he had anything else to do. He wanted to fly, wanted it so badly that if he hung around the eyries any longer, he might do something stupid. Like try to take Cumulo.

The day of Choice and his chance to bond with a new miryhl was seven months away, but every day brought him closer to flight. If he could just keep going he would be airborne eventually. He flexed his hands and shook his head, wishing that telling himself such things actually made a difference.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 4, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch4.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Roll up! Roll up! For the extra Wednesday update!

Marvel at Nimbys From Above! Gasp at the Antics of a Bumbling Pup! And shake your head at a certain grumpy lieutenant showing how not to make friends and influence miryhls.

WIND RUSHED UP to meet them, tugging at feathers, hair and clothing. Hunching over to protect the pup, Mhysra forced her skirts as flat as she could and held on for the ride. Closing her eyes against the rush, she buried her face against Cumulo’s shoulder and laughed, waiting for the lift of her stomach as he spread his wings and swept up into the sky.

Atyrn’s sharp cry reached them over the swirling winds and Cumulo screamed his reply, the pup yipping along. Mhysra opened her eyes as they wheeled away from the high mountain and skimmed down towards the city. Rocks, snow and ranks of trees whizzed beneath them, until, suddenly, the mountain seemed to open its arms. Cradled protectively against the valley’s heart, the city of Nimbys sparkled in the late afternoon light.

It wasn’t the biggest city in the Overworld, nor the most populated. It wasn’t the oldest, nor the most holy. It wasn’t the highest, it wasn’t even the warmest, but it was beautiful. Tucked at the top of the Imercian landmass, Nimbys was surrounded on three sides by the indomitable Cloud Sea. The east was protected by other mountains, but none contained a place as wondrous as Nimbys. Home of the Stratys – ruler of all Imercian – it was a place of administration, intrigue, politics and stunning architecture.

Shaped by the contours of its mountain, Nimbys rippled and undulated more gracefully than any other settlement Mhysra had seen. Sparkling towers rose from the haze of buildings and, at the open end of the city, the Cathedral of Maegla dominated as only the Storm Goddess could.

The northern edge of the ravine belonged to the Stratys Palace. Like a collection of snowflakes frozen on the edge of a waterfall, it glinted in untouchable glory. Everything about it spoke of riches, power and perfection.

The city between the two wonders was a mismatch of society and styles. The docklands throbbed with life and business, while skyships bobbed serenely at their mooring posts or were beached forlornly in the dry docks. The miryhls rushed effortlessly above them all, casting shadows across the markets and streets below, before lifting high to crest the ridge on which the palace and Flying Corps HQ stood.

Following Atyrn’s lead they swooped around the HQ and drifted onto the wide field beyond. Off-duty Riders ran out of the eyries and offices, bundled up against the cold, eager to view this newest curiosity.

Eager to be admired, Cumulo landed with a series of bounding hops, head high, chest puffed out, freshly preened feathers gleaming. Mhysra muttered dark things behind his proud head. Such a landing might look impressive, but it was horribly uncomfortable, especially when one was trying not to drop a squirming, brainless pup.

“That’s why it loves you,” Cumulo remarked as Mhysra released the dog. It flapped once before dropping like a stone. “It hasn’t enough intelligence to do otherwise.”

Sliding from his saddle, she jabbed his ribs with her toes on the way down and set about taming her skirt. “You’re such a charmer,” she grumbled, unbuckling his saddle and harness, before pulling them free. When she stepped back, he lowered his head and unhooked his bridle with a talon, tossing it to her with a flick.

“Very clever,” she drawled. He was showing off, trying to prove that Wingborn were so much smarter than ordinary miryhls. The only way he really outdid normal miryhls, in Mhysra’s opinion, was the size of his self-consequence.

“Let the gawping commence,” Lieutenant Stirla chuckled, heading towards the eyries.

As Mhysra approached the watching crowd, Cumulo strutting at her side, she had a sudden attack of nerves. It was one thing to storm the HQ and demand admittance, but this was different. Then she’d had a goal and nobody could stop her. Especially not a stuffy paper-pusher who could no more fly than dance on the Cloud Sea.

Here, however, she was under the eyes of the experts, and while she knew Cumulo was a superior specimen, she also knew she wasn’t. Too tall and scrawny to be girly, too flimsy to be boyish. To strangers she looked weak. Unworthy.

“Buck up,” Cumulo murmured. “You’re my Wingborn. Without you I’m nothing.”

The unexpected compliment straightened her spine and raised her chin. He was right, they belonged here. With these men in their well-worn uniforms, their hands and some of their faces scarred by the lives they lived. These were Rift Riders, real Rift Riders.

How would she ever belong here?

Cumulo nudged her with his wing, making her realised she’d shrunk against him again, like a chick hiding behind its mother. She straightened up and glanced towards Stirla for guidance. He was grinning as the crowd parted to reveal the other lieutenant. The blond one with the cold eyes. He nodded at Stirla and stepped forward to study the new miryhl. Whistling softly, he walked slowly around the newcomers.

Cumulo’s beak crackled in annoyance and Mhysra touched his wing, surprised. After all, he’d shown no such objection when Stirla had done the same.

“Impressive,” the lieutenant announced, his inspection complete. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I see why you were so determined to join us, my lady.”

Uncertain of what was expected, she bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, sir.”

“Lieutenant Lyrai.” He gave a curt bow. “Grounded until the Choice, my miryhl retired to stud. Wounded.” He looked at Cumulo again, unable to hide his covetous envy. “I know your name, my lady, but what about this fine fellow?”

“Cumulo,” she replied, as her miryhl curled his beak protectively over her shoulder, tugging her against his chest. She tickled his cheek just below his eye in his favourite spot, making him purr. “My Wingborn.”

A ripple ran through the Riders, word spreading to those who hadn’t already heard the news.

Ignoring the talk, Lieutenant Lyrai studied her and her eagle, taking in Cumulo’s protective stance and her affectionate touch. “Welcome to the Riders, Lady Mhysra and Cumulo. We hope you like it here.”

Something nipped her ankle and she glared down at the puppy, wondering if she was to be plagued on all sides. Disapproving lieutenants, stubborn parents, prideful miryhls and stupid puppies – Maegla aid her to a simple life.

Sighing, she nodded to the lieutenant. “Thank you, sir.”

From his faint smile and the occasional mutter from the crowd, not everyone was keen on readmitting women to the Riders.

Mhysra lifted her chin at the challenge. She was Wingborn. She belonged here – and she would prove it.

“Come on, Cue, let’s get you settled.” Hefting his tack, she scooped up the puppy and followed the chuckling Stirla inside. It was going to be a long winter.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 3, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch 3.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Well, Clerk Brenai? Is she allowed to enroll now?

Three

THE RIDERS GAPED – the girl was telling the truth! She really was from Wrentheria, the best miryhl breeders on the Overworld. More than that, she was related to the family and was one of the rich, influential Kilpapans.

Brenai paled and fell back into his chair. “Lady Mhysra Kilpapan, did you say?” he asked weakly, the letter in his hand momentarily forgotten.

“Yes,” the lad replied cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just dropped a burning pyrefly egg on the clerk’s desk. “Didn’t she tell you? Mhysra, didn’t you tell him?”

The girl’s smile was wry. “I was trying to get in on my own.”

“You didn’t mention Cue?”

She shrugged. “I tried, but Wingborn don’t exist.”

Mherrin chuckled. “I’ll let you tell Cumulo that. I stopped by after I settled Ripple. He seemed happy to see me.” His bag whined and he twisted to reach it. “Oh, I almost forgot. Mam sent you something else.” Delving inside, he pulled out a bundle of fur and feathers, black patches on white, rumpled and growling. A nakhound pup. Seeing the girl, the puppy yipped, fluttering its black-barred feathery wings, paws scrabbling at the empty air. “Merry Midwinter.”

“What did you bring that for?” the girl demanded, yelping as the boy threw the pup into the air, where it flapped with more enthusiasm than skill, forcing Lady Mhysra to dive to catch it. Tail whipping about happily, the puppy washed the girl’s face.

“She pined for you, cousin. Saddest thing I ever saw. She searched all over the eyries. Your chicks almost ate her, but they were fighting so loud they woke Mhylo. They’re missing you too, but Mam’s doing her best. The fledglings looked for you a couple of times, but Da rounded them up before they reached the village. Without Cumulo to compete with they’re a lazy pair.”

Holding the nakhound at arm’s length, Lady Mhysra shot her cousin an exasperated look. “She’s one of Kilai’s. He’ll kill me.”

“He left them to Mam, and she knows best. Besides, he got one when he joined the Riders.”

“I’ve got Cumulo.”

“And he has Cirrus. All’s fair, cuz.”

She scowled at him, tucked the puppy under her arm and turned back to the desk. “Does this meet with your requirements, sir?”

Brenai was still blinking in astonishment at the previous revelations. “I – I believe so, my lady. Though parental permission is preferred.”

“I was raised by my aunt,” she said, icily polite. “She has every right to decide my future.”

Fidgeting, the clerk scanned the letter again. “Your aunt says you are Wingborn?”

“Yes.”

“And that you are a Kilpapan?” Brenai sounded as though he was being strangled.

“Yes.”

“Yet your letter of recommendation is from Mhylla Wrentherin?”

The cousins shared a glance, and the girl nodded. “My maternal aunt, yes.”

“Umm…” Brenai tugged at his neckcloth, sweating at the prospect of either turning away this gift of a student or offending the influential Kilpapan family. “Would it be possible to receive a letter from your parents?”

Lady Mhysra pursed her lips. “At this present moment, no.”

“Ah.”

“Not when enrolment closed yesterday.”

Brenai coughed. “Well, classes do not begin for another five days. If you were given the opportunity, do you believe it is possible to gain permission before then?”

Her smile was beautiful. “For this chance, sir, I could do almost anything. You’ll have your letter before the first day of classes.” The cousins shared another look and the boy winked. Lyrai wondered how legitimate any letter signed by Lord Kilpapan would be, but it was no business of his. A Wingborn belonged in the Riders, male or female.

“You have five days, Lady Mhysra.”

“Thank you.” She bowed to the clerk and jerked upright when the puppy licked her nose. Casting it a disgusted look, she turned away, then paused. “Might I request a favour?”

Exhausted by the morning’s tribulations, Brenai waved her towards the two lieutenants.

Ever curious, Stirla stepped forward. “How may I assist, my lady?”

She studied his uniform, eyes lingering on his shoulder stripes. “It’s about my miryhl, sir.”

“Please, call me Stirla.” He swept up her hand – the one not holding the puppy – for a kiss.

Her eyebrows rose and she bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, Lieutenant Stirla.”

He patted her hand and Lyrai had to stifle his amusement. He couldn’t believe that Stirla was flirting with a child ten years his junior – even if she was connected to two of the most powerful families in the East Overworld. Girls under sixteen, in Lyrai’s experience, were either unbearably silly or simply not interested.

“Tell me about your miryhl,” Stirla prompted.

She frowned and dragged her hand free, surreptitiously wiping it on her coat, proving Lyrai right. “He’s at the city eyries -”

Every Rider within hearing winced and Stirla dropped his flirtatious air. “Say no more, my lady. You should have come to us sooner.”

Taken aback by such swift acceptance, she smiled shyly. “I wasn’t sure a civilian would be welcome, sir. Many don’t agree with a girl having a miryhl, Wingborn or not. And I’m afraid he’s not looking his best.”

“Understandable considering where you’ve had to keep him.” Stirla shuddered, and he wasn’t the only one. The Riders had been trying to get the city eyries closed down for years, but since they were also used by pyrefliers and horsat messengers they had yet to succeed. “Miryhls are Rider business, my lady, and we’re always prepared to listen to those who live with them. I’ll send someone to fetch him immediately.” When the girl opened her mouth, Stirla chuckled. “Or you could bring him yourself.”

“Thank you, sir.” Dipping another curtsey, she hurried after her cousin.

“Well.” Stirla turned to Lyrai, eyebrows raised. “That was interesting.”

“And no doubt will continue to be so,” Lyrai agreed, nodding for his men to disband, since they weren’t on duty until the afternoon.

“Spending seven months in Nimbys doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?” Stirla chuckled, accepting his packet of written instructions from the harassed Brenai. “Girls in the Riders again and we’re here to help. We live in interesting times, my friend. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and find space for our special guest.” Stirla set off towards the eyries, whistling as he went.

“Interesting times, indeed,” Lyrai murmured, and left to find his sergeant. A surprise inspection of his flurry’s mounts sounded like a marvellous plan.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 2, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch2.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which Lyrai is grumpy, Stirla is Stirla and Mhysra gets a teeny bit annoyed.

“WHAT’S YOUR WAGER? Runaway brat, curious miss or genuine girl?”

Lyrai looked up from studying the depressing duty roster. He was surrounded by grumbling Riders equally dismayed over their new assignment. Merry Midwinter, everyone. “Pardon?”

“We have another one.” Stirla nodded across the busy room, eyes bright and mischievous.

After five years together – from their first day at Aquila through to their current officer training – Lyrai had learned to be wary of that sparkle. Still, a little amusement might ease the sting of being quartered in Nimbys until the following autumn.

He turned to face the cluttered front desk just as the girl reached it. Slender and tall, her dark brown hair was pulled tightly back, accentuating the sharp features of her sun-bronzed face. She wasn’t pretty, but had big, pale eyes that glanced frequently at the Riders. Seeing the silver flashes on his and Stirla’s shoulder, she nodded respectfully before turning to the clerk at the desk.

“Strange little thing,” Stirla murmured. “So, which is it?”

Lyrai waved him to silence, wanting to listen and far too wise to wager with him. Even when he wasn’t cheating, Stirla’s luck was just too good to trust.

“Enrolment is closed.” Brenai the clerk had fussy ways, but he was the best administrator in Nimbys. Lyrai smiled, wondering how the girl would react to his sharp manner.

“I know, but I was unable to come until this morning.” Her voice was polite and clear, softened with a hint of country burr. Well born, but not local. “Since classes don’t begin for another five days, I hoped I might still be admitted.”

Her friendly smile didn’t sway Brenai one bit. He peered over his glasses and sniffed. “Enrolment closed yesterday. Rift Riders live or die by their punctuality. We make no exceptions.” The gathered Riders snickered. In theory what Brenai said was true, but in practise…

Irritation flashed over the girl’s face. Instead of unleashing it, though, she took a deep breath. “I was unable to come before, sir.”

“Try again next year,” Brenai advised brusquely, and with more than a touch of disapproval. As well he might. The clerk had been particularly vocal in opposing the recent changes to the Flying Corps.

The girl took another deep breath and forced a smile. “If I had another choice, sir, I would not ask,” she said, a hint of desperation creeping in. “It’s Midwinter.”

Brenai’s eyebrows drew together and he pushed his papers aside, squaring the corners neatly as if the haphazard piles behind him did not exist. “I hesitate to be rude, miss, but what’s the hurry? The proclamation will still apply next year. It’s a five-year trial. There’s no rush and there will be plenty of miryhls left, if you want this badly enough. The thinking time will do you good. This isn’t an easy life. Take a little Midwinter advice and leave it another year.”

The young woman’s hands clenched and her body stiffened with all the hauteur that the upper classes had cultivated over the centuries. “You do not understand, sir,” she growled. “I’m not some featherheaded miss with no clue as to what Rider duties entail. I don’t need to think about it. A year’s grace will not do me good. I am not anticipating an easy life.” She leaned over the waist-high desk and whispered something too softly for the curious Riders to hear.

Brenai sat back, clearly surprised. Then he laughed. “What a Midwinter tale! Wingborn, indeed. You must think me thirty years younger than I am!”

Wingborn! The shock rippled through the room as the Riders reassessed the girl. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen and showed no signs of a life with miryhls. She was too thin and free of scars. As wondrous and intelligent as miryhls were, they were still giant eagles with all the sharp edges and predatory instincts to match their wild cousins. Even the gentlest bird could draw blood on occasion.

Unlike Brenai and the civilian population, Rift Riders knew Wingborn existed – but they were rare. A miryhl hatching at the exact moment a human was born, within a mile of each other. One soul split in two. The phenomenon had once been more widespread when miryhls had bred more freely, but they had never been common. Breeding farms were now established in more remote areas, protecting the birds and limiting human contact until they were fully trained. Who was this girl and where was she from?

“I can prove it,” the girl insisted, trembling with anger. “Just let me fetch my miryhl.”

The clerk stopped laughing. “You have a miryhl?”

“I am Wingborn,” she growled.

Brenai waved her words away, all stern business now that the joke was over. “Where did you get him? Name, place and date of birth, and the same for your miryhl, if you please. You do know it is illegal to own a miryhl outside of Rift Rider purposes, do you not?”

“Unless one is Wingborn,” she reminded him stiffly. “Or of a ruling royal or political house. I know the regulations, sir. I was born at Wrentheria.”

“The village?” the clerk asked, searching for fresh paper.

The look she shot Brenai was almost pitying. “The manor. I’ve been breeding miryhls for two years and helping raise others my whole life.”

Lyrai raised his eyebrows, unsure if he believed her. Wrentheria was renown throughout the Overworld as one of the best – if not the best – breeder of miryhls. The simple way she said the name didn’t sound like a boast, but nor did she look tough enough. Miryhl breeding was not easy, especially for those of shorter stature. The girl was tall for her age, but still barely half the size of an adult miryhl.

Brenai looked sceptical and held out a hand. “Your letter of recommendation.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t have one.”

The clerk sighed and took off his glasses to massage his nose. “You come here making wild claims with no supporting evidence and expect me to admit you, even though official registration closed yesterday. Your credentials are wondrous, miss, if they are true. Since you cannot prove them… The Rift Riders do not look kindly on timewasters.”

Her jaw clenched. “Then I will fetch your proof, sir.” Turning on her heel she stormed away.

The watching Riders waited eagerly to see how the drama would unfold next, whispering bets between each other. It was almost as good as a play. When the girl was two angry paces away from the door, it was flung open by a young man with wind-tossed curls and a beaming smile. He wore the lightweight gear used by messengers and carried a document bag over his shoulder.

“Mhysra!” he greeted and, without even a hitch in his stride, swept the girl into his arms. “Well met and Midwinter blessings. I was looking for you next so you’ve saved me an awkward meeting with my aunt.”

“Mherrin!” the girl squealed, completely at odds with her previous behaviour. “What are you doing here? Where are you staying? How long? Is my aunt well? How is everyone? Oh, I’ve missed you!” She wrapped her arms around the messenger’s neck again.

“All right,” Stirla murmured in Lyrai’s ear. “I’m completely lost. Are you keeping up?”

“At least it’s entertaining,” Lyrai replied, while the youngsters chattered about people no one else in the room knew. There was enough of a similarity in their sharp features and softly-burred accents for them to be related. “Which is more than we usually get in Nimbys.”

“Seven months,” someone else groaned, setting off a rumble of discontent.

Brenai stood up and cleared his throat loudly. “Messenger, have you anything for me?”

Recalled to his duty, the lad dropped the girl, straightened his jacket and strode across the room. He sorted through the letters inside his bag, handing two to the girl and a third to the clerk. That done, he straightened up importantly.

“I bring greetings from Mhylla Wrentherin Mhynara of Wrentheria, and her personal recommendation that her niece, Lady Mhysra Kilpapan Kilrenma, be permitted to join the Rift Riders, in accordance with the new proclamation readmitting women into their exalted ranks for the first time in over one hundred years.”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!